You Mine, Cas?
by TheReluctantShipper
Summary: Castiel doesn't remember when they met, but he remembers that the magnetism was irresistible right from the beginning. [High School AU, Human AU, WILL CONTAIN EXPLICIT SEX SCENES]
1. Under Advisement

_\- This is (obviously) a work of fanfiction. I don't own anything but the original characters. I don't claim ownership over the characters or storyline of the TV show Supernatural, no matter how grateful I am for them, which is hella._

 _\- No posting schedule, because I am a garbage person comprised of garbage, and cannot commit to anything but my husband._

 _\- Thanks to the Sister Husbands, who are my best friends in the whole world, and happen to be gracious enough to also beta most of my works for me. I don't know what I'd do without you girls, but I certainly wouldn't be doing this._

 _\- I come by any mistakes here honestly, but feel free to point them out so I can correct them._

 _\- Feedback is life._

 _\- I can hear you say, "But wait! You already have WIPs! You don't need more!" To which I say, "Have another WIP." Luckily, this one will be short, gritty, and sweet. Hope y'all like it._

* * *

It's quiet but for the soft clinks of silverware against fine china. It's always silent at the dinner table in the Novak family.

The room is the picture of elegance. Opulence without overcompensation. The walls are a dark, rich red. The wood on the crown molding is dark, too, and polished to gleaming. The tablecloth is pristine, no food would dare stain Naomi Novak's linens. The wine (one glass is permitted for each child after the age of fifteen) is full-bodied and heavy. The food is magazine-quality, both aesthetically and to taste. The lights are rather low, and candles placed periodically on the table make up for the lack.

Castiel and his siblings also seem to be perfect. Well-mannered, well-dressed, well-groomed. Not a hair out of place or a wrinkle in sight.

Castiel thinks _Dean would hate it here._

A slightly sharper _thunk_ announces that Naomi has put her fork down.

"Castiel."

He mirrors his mother's movement. He meets her eyes. "Yes, mother?"

Naomi raises one beautiful, sculpted brow. "I've heard some… Disturbing rumors about you and the eldest Winchester boy."

Castiel's face could be carved from granite for all the emotion it gives away. He learned from the best, after all. "Oh?"

"You're not going to deny it?"

Cas raises his own eyebrow. "How can I deny what you haven't accused me of?"

A soft gasp from his left. Hester, then. She's the youngest, only fifteen, and she hasn't learned the advantage of keeping a good poker face yet.

With a mother like Naomi, however, she will.

Their mother clenches her jaw, the only outward sign of her anger. _Poker face, indeed._

"I don't think you should be associating with… People like the Winchesters."

Castiel thinks of Dean for a beat. He thinks of Dean's leather jacket, his ridiculous car, the eyes fit for a Disney princess. Of cheeseburgers and a calloused hand holding is own and of rolling his eyes when Dean insists on carrying his books to class.

He thinks of Dean's whiskey-smooth voice in his ear, rasping, "You mine, Cas?"

 _Always._

"I'll take it under advisement, mother."


	2. Overwhelming

Pontiac Prep Academy has a lot of advantages on public high schools. The teachers are stellar, the class sizes are small. The arts and academia receive just as much passion and following as sports. The students who attend are widely acknowledged to be better prepared for _everything,_ not just college.

Just like every other high school, however, it runs on cliques and factions among the teenagers teeming in its halls. They're not so obvious to _name_ themselves, for God's sake, but they're obvious nonetheless.

There are the kids who are there for athletics, who live for and breathe jerseys, exertion, and team spirit. There are the pure nerds, who thrive on knowledge in all forms. The politicians' children, smarmy and polished, only rebellious when their parents can't see them. The scholarship kids, endearing in their boundless work ethic.

Castiel himself is a legacy. Bartholomew and Naomi were _both_ students of Pontiac Prep, a double-whammy of academic perfection and intimidatingly well-done orthodontia. Castiel and his siblings enjoy a bit of privilege because of it, he knows. He has little shame about using that privilege to further himself.

Dean Winchester is a class unto his own, though.

No one is certain what John and Mary Winchester did to get their sons into Pontiac Prep, but it couldn't have been wholesome. Castiel isn't convinced that it was even as simple as bribery. He thinks it may have been something much… Darker.

Not that you would know it, looking at Sam. The kid is wickedly intelligent, a bright young man who made friends quickly when he and Dean showed up two years ago. Sam is going to change the world, maybe even save it.

Dean, however…

It's common knowledge/not knowledge that the Winchesters are high-ranking members of the local organized crime enterprise. Castiel has heard that John and Mary have their hands in any number of shady dealings. He knows for a fact that they frequently socialize with the Crowleys, who are definitely less than savory.

They're criminals, pure and simple. Castiel should give all of them a wide berth.

But there's _Dean._

Castiel doesn't remember when they met, but he remembers the magnetism was irresistible right from the beginning. He can't really pinpoint the day they went from "Dean" and "Castiel" to "Dean and Cas," just that it's perfectly natural to have Dean's arm flung in a seemingly careless manner around his shoulders as they walk down the halls.

It makes no _sense._ Dean is vulgar, immature, and prone to starting fights _during school._ He wears that stupid jacket, and his jeans always have holes in them. He smokes and drinks and is everything that Castiel has ever turned his nose up at in a romantic partner.

But he can't fight the way his blood heats up when Dean gives him that _look._ Or the way he sees red when that _bitch_ Bela lays a perfectly manicured hand on Dean's arm to laugh flirtatiously up at him. Even worse when Dean smirks down at her, though Castiel knows the dick only does it to rile him up.

He's just so _aware_ of Dean fucking Winchester. It drives him crazy, makes his skin feel too tight and twitchy. He wants to inhale Dean, to absorb him to get close enough that they're so entangled that they're basically one person.

Worst of all? Dean feels the same.

For all that Castiel has dealt with their attraction by ruthlessly trying to control both himself and Dean, Dean has just _accepted_ it. He won't let Cas change the way he dresses (because, Cas suspects, Dean knows it's secretly a turn-on), but he's stopped fighting or sleeping around, and he at the very least _shows up_ to all of his classes. He's cut back on smoking, especially since Cas won't kiss him if he tastes like an ashtray. He's still quintessentially himself, but he gives Castiel the control he needs by changing things that don't matter all that much to Dean himself.

This infuriating boy who has completely consumed Castiel's thoughts just smiles, tugs Castiel close with an insolent arm around his waist, and murmurs, "Whatever you want, gorgeous."

Not to say that Dean is casual about them, no. His easygoing facade is belied by the way his eyes are always locked onto Castiel, who preens under the attention. Castiel might get a little jealous (an understatement), but Dean gets downright _possessive._

It's intense, probably unhealthy, overwhelming, but when Dean pants into his ear, "You mine, Cas?" in the backseat of his car, Cas' reply is the same every time.

"Always."


	3. Hooks

Dean doesn't really understand how, exactly, Castiel Novak got his hooks so deep into him.

At first, of course, it was that perky, tight ass encased in expensive slacks that caught his eye. The pale, smooth expanse of Cas' neck that's just begging to be marked up by Dean's teeth. And, _Jesus,_ Cas' _mouth,_ all lush and almost always curved up in a knowing smirk. Dean didn't stand a chance.

When he got close, though, that wasn't the stuff that kept him coming back. That was the wicked, dry humor Cas has, and the almost predatory intelligence that he doesn't bother to hide or dumb down. Everything about Castiel ensnared Dean somehow, and he's happily caught.

Like Cas, he doesn't know they became _them._ All he knows is that one day he was flirting harmlessly with Bela (it means _less_ than nothing to him, he was already way too into whatever this thing with Cas was, but she was cute, and her family was wealthy, no harm in keeping a friendly connection), and when his eyes met Cas', those blue depths burned with a barely contained fury.

At that point, Cas had been playing it pretty cool. This proof that what they had between them was just as intense for him as it was for Dean? _Awesome._

Dean smirked.

Since then, they're inseparable. Dean has always felt pretty good in general, but he feels fucking _powerful_ when he has Cas next to him. Castiel, second eldest Novak son, certified genius, master manipulator, so goddamn pretty it's hard to look at him directly? Yeah, walking down the halls with his arm around Cas makes Dean feel like a king.

He burns for Cas. All of the shady, bad shit he's done, he would do again for Cas in a blink. He would level cities for Cas, destroy people and demolish buildings. He wouldn't betray Sam for Cas, but at this point (and he'll never tell _anyone_ this), he doesn't know if he could betray Cas for Sam, either.

Lucky for him, they get along.

Dean has never felt like this before. This intense connection, need bordering on obsession, this belongs only to Cas.

As surely as Dean himself does.


	4. The Hold He Has

Mary Winchester knows how to read people. It's how she has run their family business so successfully for so long, and how she knew that John would be the man she married.

It's how she knows that she should be worried about Castiel Novak.

She agreed easily when Dean asked if he could bring his boyfriend to dinner, but she wasn't expecting _this._ Oh, the young man is polite, well-dressed, and has impeccable manners. He seems to get along with Sam, and manages to be the perfect combination of humble and confident to flawlessly charm John.

Mary recognizes him, though.

She's never met the boy, no, but she recognizes the ruthlessness, the calculating intelligence in his eyes. Hell, she sees it in her own eyes in the mirror every morning.

She also recognizes the hold he has over her eldest son.

Castiel makes no move without Dean's eyes on him, and Dean makes no move without checking with Castiel. For the first time in his life, Mary sees Dean seeking approval, permission, _validation_ from someone outside of his family.

It's utterly terrifying, and her heart is frozen in fear for the first half of their dinner with the Novak boy.

It would be such a simple thing for this young man, this stranger, _interloper,_ to pull her boy away. He is smart enough to know not to demand it outright, surely. A few well-placed, seemingly innocuous comments, though, some hidden barbs in his words, they'll do the trick. Her son is not stupid by any means, but he's blinded by love. There's no telling what he'll do.

She is so busy worrying about how dangerous Castiel is to her that she almost misses it.

Dean is talking about a test he took recently, one on which he did well. Mary is already well aware of it and is proud of her son. There is now, however, a note of (albeit shaky) confidence in his own voice. It's something she's only heard rarely before, and in her surprise, she glances at Castiel.

Castiel, who is gazing warmly at Dean with what can only be described as adoration. There's a smile on his lips, one that she recognizes as a soft, private smile, one only for Dean.

Much like the one she keeps just for John.

At that precise moment, her fear abates.

Castiel may have an iron grip on her son, but Dean is holding onto Castiel just as tightly. The control Castiel has is mutual, a bond between the two of them that is not easily understood by others, but no less powerful from lack of understanding.

Mary smiles. "I'm so glad you could join us tonight, Castiel."

A mutual understanding passes between them and Castiel nods. "As am I, Mrs. Winchester."

"Please, call me Mary."

* * *

When Mary asks Castiel to call her by her first name, John knows that his wife approves of their son's boyfriend. Which is nice, because John does, too.

The boy is smart, strong, confident, and obviously head over heels for Dean.

That, along with Mary's approval, is all John needs.


	5. Privilege

"It's like a pre-pre- _pre-_ law class," Sam says as he, Dean, and Castiel navigate the halls at school. "It would look awesome on my résumé, but there's a waiting list a mile long."

Castiel notices the way Dean's arm stiffens around his shoulders, though his voice remains light. "They'd be crazy not to bump you to the top, kiddo."

Sam shakes his head. "I don't know. Professor Uriel is pretty strict about that kind of thing." He shrugs. "It's no big deal. It would be nice, but I don't _need_ it. Oh, there's Charlie. See you guys later!" The younger boy runs off without seeing Dean's small, troubled frown.

Castiel knows that every time Sam desires something that Dean cannot provide, it hurts Dean. He doesn't know how it came to be that way, he certainly doesn't feel that way about his own siblings, but that doesn't matter.

Dean is unhappy, his usually carefree smile darkened and tight as he steers them toward their next class.

 _This will not do._

* * *

"Novak" is a name to be reckoned with.

Bartholomew and Naomi married shortly after graduation, and Bartholomew started preaching shortly after that. They became quickly (and quietly) rather influential (and absolutely shamefully wealthy).

Castiel hasn't believed in God since he watched his father waste away slowly before dying surrounded by sycophants and reeking of death and his own sickness. If there is a God, He certainly doesn't take very good care of His people, and Castiel can't put his faith in someone like that.

But Bartholomew left his family rich, and shrewd investment decisions by Naomi have kept them that way. She also uses her husband's good name, as well as the numerous charitable contributions she's made to various organizations, to further her and her children as she sees fit.

When he thinks about it, it's honestly the closest Castiel ever feels to his mother.

Most importantly, Naomi takes care of her own and has taught her children to do the same.

Dean is Castiel's, without a doubt, which makes Sam his, too.

"Novak" is a name to be reckoned with, and Novaks take care of their own.

* * *

Sam races to where Castiel is sitting in the courtyard a few days later. Castiel is leaning against a tree and having a lively debate with Kevin Tran. Dean lays with his head in Castiel's lap, dozing in the lazy morning warmth as Castiel cards gentle fingers through his hair.

"I got in!" Sam crows, waving a piece of official-looking paper wildly. "I got _in!"_

Castiel breaks off his conversation with Kevin as Sam reaches them, and Dean sits up.

"Into what?" Dean asks. Castiel doesn't bother, he already knows.

"Professor Uriel's class!" Sam's hazel eyes are shining. "He made an exception due to my, and I quote, 'obviously impressive work ethic and stellar academic performance.'" Sam pumps a fist in the air. " _I got in!"_

He and Kevin dissolve into excited chatter about the class, but Dean looks right over at Castiel, who makes sure to keep any smugness or satisfaction off of his expression.

"This was you," he says quietly. A statement, not a question.

"Sam is a bright young man," Castiel replies. "He deserves it."

Dean's eyes are intent on his face, and his slow smile is predatory enough to make Castiel feel every inch prey as Dean leans closer to him.

"I'll have to find a way to thank you," Dean purrs right up against Castiel's ear. He shudders, and his pants are suddenly a bit tighter.

" _Dean."_

"Don't you worry, baby. I'll make sure you know _exactly_ how grateful I am."

* * *

That night, in the back of the Impala, Dean does just that.


	6. Disapproval

"Castiel."

Castiel looks up from where he's studying at his desk. He's wearing sweats and a t-shirt, something he's begun doing recently and is directly Dean's influence.

 _("It's important to look professional."_

" _Only hookers are professional in bedrooms, Cas. Put on the damn sweats.")_

His brother Michael is standing in his doorway, dressed in neatly pressed slacks and a button-down shirt. _Dean is right. He looks like an idiot._

"Yes?"

"May I have a word with you?"

Castiel puts his en down and turns in his chair to fully face his brother. "Of course."

Michael doesn't come into the room "I have some concerns about your… 'Friendship' with Dean."

 _Ah, of course._ While the church they attend now has a laid-back view on homosexuality, Bartholomew did not. Naomi's opinions mirror those of the church (in all things, not one to rock the boat, their mother), and Castiel's other siblings don't care.

But Michael is the oldest, was the closest of the Novak children to their father, and he believes what Bartholomew believed.

Unfortunately for Michael, Castiel has a trigonometry test to study for, and he's agreed to proofread one of Dean's essays for him. He quite literally doesn't have time for Michael's bigotry.

"We're not friends, Michael, we're _dating._ I know you don't approve, but I don't care." Castiel smiles beatifically. "Was there anything else?"

Michael scowls. "You're besmirching father's good name with your sinning with that _boy."_

"I think the multi-million dollar church, the BMWs, the eight-bedroom house, and the undoubtedly unfaithful marriage have probably done that for me."

"It's unnatural, what you're doing."

"So is deodorant, but it's for the good of the public." _My goodness, Dean must be rubbing off on me._

Michael looks down. "I simply think it would be a shame," he says slowly, coldly, "if someone, say the disciplinary board at school, were to discover some of the more… _Unsavory_ things Dean has done. Just rumors, of course, but one must wonder if it would have an effect on him if his deeds were to come to light."

Rage washes through Castiel, though none of it shows on his face. _That was a mistake._

 _A_ big _fucking mistake._

"That _would_ be terrible," Castiel says mildly. "Almost as terrible as everyone finding out that mother had to bribe the school board to let you into Prep at all." Michael pales and Castiel stands. "Or if the _disciplinary board,_ much less the _church,_ finds out that you had that thug Raphael beat poor Adam Mulligan into the ICU just for having a harmless crush on you." He's up in Michael's face now, fearless and angry. "Oh, or even better, _big brother,"_ he snarls, "how many people do you think would be interested in finding out what you and Raphael get up to when you think you're sufficiently hidden?"

Michael is deathly white, save for two high spots of color on his cheeks. Castiel leans even closer to whisper in his ear.

"Do _not_ fuck with me, Dean, or any of ours, Michael. The consequences of such will be swift and merciless, _I will make sure of it."_ He leans back to smile at his brother again. "I'll continue to do whatever I want, _Michael,_ and you're welcome to continue to publicly disapprove. You just keep in mind what the consequences of your vague little threats will be, and that there is nothing you can do to break Dean and I up, regardless. Am I making myself perfectly clear?"

Michael stares at him for a moment more before turning on his heel and storming away.

Castiel allows himself just a beat to smile smugly before he returns to his desk to study.

* * *

 _\- The credit for the "deodorant" line goes to season 1 of American Horror Story._


	7. Just High School Students

As wealthy and influential as Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester are, it's not always power plays and drama.

* * *

A neatly folded piece of notebook paper lands on the open book on Castiel's desk, interrupting the assigned reading he was rather enjoying. He sighs heavily. Only one of his friends is ridiculous and archaic enough to be _passing notes in class._

 _Cassie, u and ur boitoi at Lafitte's 2nite 8p?_

Castiel stems his irritation and writes a quick reply under his desk, paper pressed to his leg, before folding the note back up and waiting until the professor's back is turned to drop it onto Balthazar's desk next to his own.

 _We'll be there, you illiterate Luddite._

* * *

He should have known that Dean would notice.

"What were you and Bal gossiping about?" Dean asks casually as he flings his arm around Cas' shoulders on their way through the hallway. More and more lately, Cas has started to feel strange when he _isn't_ walking next to Dean.

He frowns. "I do not 'gossip,' and if I did, it certainly wouldn't be with _Balthazar."_

"All right, then. What were you and Balthazar very seriously discussing by _passing notes?"_

 _Damn Balthazar._ "We're going to Lafitte's tonight at eight," he says primly.

Dean hums. "Pick you up at seven-thirty?"

"Of course."

* * *

Lafitte's is a classic-style diner that's been owned by Benny's family for generations. It's all silver and chrome bar and booths, and all of the seating is covered in red leather. Dean likes it because of the working jukebox in the corner. Cas likes it because the cheeseburgers are to _die_ for.

Their group has taken over 3 of the booths in the back of the restaurant. Benny's dad doesn't mind, he says it keeps them out of trouble. Dean loves it here, at the center of the action with Cas, it makes him feel like a king.

Cas is having a conversation with Charlie sitting across the booth from them while Dean returns from the counter and slides into the seat next to him, slinging his arm across the back. When Dean places a milkshake in front of Cas, he expects the flat look that he gets. It's a vanilla shake in a tall glass, with two cherries resting on a mountain of whipped cream and two straws poking out from the top.

Cas cocks an eyebrow. "What is this?"

Dean gives him what he knows is a dazzling smile. "C'mn, share a milkshake with me, gorgeous. It'll be like the fifties."

"We would have been lynched for sharing a milkshake in the fifties," Cas says dryly.

"You're a ray of sunshine, Cas."

"Is that why I don't warrant my own milkshake now?"

Dean grins again. "Maybe I'm watching my girlish figure."

Cas stares at him for a long moment, but Dean just stares right back. He's not scared of Cas, and besides, it's good for his boyfriend to unclench every once in a while and do something that's less than perfectly coiffed.

"Fine, but your figure had better stay above reproach," Cas says, a small smile on his lips.

Dean grins. "You won't love me if I get fat?"

"I'll love you no matter what," Cas says casually, "but if I'm sacrificing half a milkshake for it, I expect to see results."

Dean laughs again and leans forward to press a kiss to Cas' cheek. Sam, sitting next to Charlie across from them, gags, and Charlie whips out her phone and snaps a picture before either of them can object.

Dean gets her to send it to him and he sets it as his phone's background.

* * *

A few days later, they're sitting in Dean's bedroom on his bed, studying for a physics test coming up later in the week. Dean likes this, he likes the way Cas' pressed, snazzy slacks look alongside his own worn, torn up jeans.

Dean's mom comes to the door, drying her hands on a towel. Dean knows very well what she does for a living, but dressed in ratty jeans and one of his dad's old flannels, it's hard to think of her as anything but "mom."

"How's it going up here?" she asks.

"Very well, thank you," Cas answers politely.

She smiles. "Good. You boys hungry?"

" _God_ yes," Dean says fervently. "Grilled cheese?" When Cas elbows him hard in the side, he grunts and adds, "please?"

She laughs. "All right. Four grilled cheese sandwiches coming right up."

Cas frowns as she walks away, then sighs. "Grilled cheese. There goes my girlish figure."

* * *

Castiel just smiles when Dean hits the doors to the physics classroom so hard they bounce off the wall and rebound back at him. Dean catches them so they don't hit Cas, then drops them and puts his arm around Cas to take them out of the room. He seems uncaring about the yelp from the student behind them.

" _Finally!"_ Dean crows. "Jesus, that took forever."

Cas rolls his eyes. "The test hardly took you forty minutes."

"Longest forty minutes of my _life,"_ Dean bitches, even as he smoothly takes Cas' books from him and carries them on his other arm.

"You'll find a way to live," Cas says dryly. He's given up the fight about the book thing.

"We got a free half an hour," Dean says, apropos of nothing.

"Mhm." Cas thinks he might drag Dean to the library. There's an essay due in one of their literature classes in a couple of weeks, and he wants to get a head start on it.

Dean leers at him, and Cas' thoughts derail neatly and with finality. "Wanna make out in the back of Baby? Maybe be even a little late to Calculus?"

Cas doesn't even stop to consider it. "Yes."

They're more than a little late to Calculus.

* * *

As wealthy and influential as Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester are, they're mostly just high school students.


	8. Desperate

"I'm ready, I'm ready," Cas gasps. His fingers twist in the sheets as he rocks back onto the three fingers Dean has buried in his ass.

Dean kisses the base of his spine. "Yeah? You think so, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice rough and low and smug.

" _Yes,"_ Cas hisses.

They're taking advantage of the rare opportunity presented by Cas' whole family being out of the house to have sex somewhere other than the backseat of the Impala.

Well, Dean is taking advantage of the opportunity to turn Castiel into a sweaty, strung out, needy wreck.

"Please," Cas gasps, his hips moving helplessly. This is the only time he lets go like this, the only time he gives the reins to Dean and lets himself just _be_ for a while. It's something he never had before, and he never intends to let it go, let _Dean_ go.

"Yeah, I think so, too," Dean rasps. He pulls his fingers out slowly and shushes Cas when he starts to whine.

"Look at you," Dean murmurs. He palms the globes of Cas' ass in both hands and holds him open, keeps his hole exposed. "So _needy,_ baby. So desperate for my cock." Cas can hear the smug smile on Dean's face. "Bet you'd do anything for it, huh?"

Cas grits his teeth. "I'll refrain from causing you bodily harm if you get on with it soon."

"So _mouthy,"_ Dean coos, clearly delighted. Before Cas can retort, however, the thick head of Dean's cock is pushing in past the tight ring of muscle. Cas makes a sound like he's dying and lets his head hang. He closes his eyes to focus on the way his body flashes hot and cold, goosebumps breaking out over his skin as Dean slowly, so slowly, sinks into him.

He has no idea how long it takes for Dean's hips to come flush with his ass, but it feels like a long time. He realizes dimly that Dean is running soothing hands up and down his sides, and that he's murmuring praise and encouragement softly.

"Look so good like this, Cas, all red and pretty for me stretched around my cock. Jesus, you're so fucking gorgeous, can barely stand it. Love you so much, gonna fuck you so hard you won't be able to stand for a _week-"_

To cut off the stream of (rather lovely) babbling, Cas pushes himself up until his back is against Dean's sweaty chest. It does _amazing_ things to the angle at which Dean's cock is in his ass, making him moan even as he reaches back to wrap a hand around the back of Dean's head and thread his fingers through the short hairs there.

" _Fuck me,"_ he hisses, and Dean stops teasing.

Dean's hands grip his hips and he starts a fast, hard pace, jolting Cas with each thrust and hitting his prostate head on every second or third thrust. Since they're alone, Cas makes no attempt to smother his cries, and it seems to drive Dean mad.

Cas' own cock is so hard it hurts, and it smacks his belly lightly with every thrust, sending another shock of pleasure through him each time. He's close, fuck, he's _so_ close, and he wants nothing more than to take himself in hand and get himself the rest of the way there. But he won't, he _can't,_ not without-

Dean's breath is harsh when he presses his lips to Cas' ear. Cas realizes he must have dropped his head back to rest on Dean's shoulder at some point, though he doesn't remember doing it.

"You close, sweetheart?" Dean growls.

Cas mewls in response, beyond inconsequential things like words and sentences.

"Yeah, I bet you are. Love you like this, all desperate for me. Think you can come on my cock, baby?"

Cas shakes his head, trembling from head to toe as he's assaulted by pleasure. His limbs tingle and he tightens his fingers in Dean's hair again.

"Ah, I disagree," Dean says, sounding ridiculously put together for someone who's balls deep in someone as hot as Cas knows he is. "But maybe tonight isn't the night to push it, yeah?" Dean finally, _finally,_ the bastard, takes one of his hands from Cas' hips and wraps it around his throbbing, aching cock.

Cas gasps and his back arches, sending Dean's cock directly into his prostate on the next thrust, and without preamble, he comes so hard he nearly blacks out, screaming as wave after wave of intensity and pleasure make his vision grey out at the edges.

He shudders again when Dean sinks in one last time, as deep as he can go, so deep Cas can feel his cock pulsing as he fills Cas with come. Dean moans, long and loud, and leans his forehead on Cas' shoulder while he wraps one arm around Cas' waist to keep him tucked up close.

As they come down, Dean lifts his head enough to whisper in Cas' ear, his voice rough with emotion and orgasm and sleepiness

"You mine, Cas?"

Cas smiles, and his own voice is deeper than usual when he replies with a rasp, "Always."


	9. Retribution

Dean stops in front of the school's infirmary _(why can't they just call it a nurse's office? fucking snobs),_ takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out in a whoosh before he opens the door and walks in. The nurse, a pretty brunette named Tessa, purses her lips when Dean comes in, but doesn't bother trying to stop him. Which is a very, _very_ good thing.

Cas doesn't look surprised to see him. He's sitting on one of the raised exam tables, holding an ice pack to one swollen, blackening eye. The other burns with an otherworldly blue intensity as it devours the sight of Dean.

Cas looks like shit. The left side of his face is one giant bruise. His lip is split and still bleeding slowly. His shirt is dirty and torn, and one of the knees in his slacks is ripped open from seam to seam, almost an imitation of Dean's jeans.

Cas widens his legs to let Dean stand between his knees in front of him. Dean's hands tremble with pain and fury when he cups Cas' face. Cas lets the ice pack fall away, giving Dean the rest of the picture

"Oh, baby," Dean whispers. He presses his forehead gently against Cas'. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Dean," Cas assures him softly. "They surprised me, that's the only reason it's this bad."

"Where?"

"Outside, behind the bleachers." Dean cocks an eyebrow and Cas sighs. "I was trying to do Professor Tran a favor."

"Who did this, Cas?"

Cas looks him dead in the eye. "Azazel and his shitty little gang. Talley did most of the damage." He indicates the eye he's covered with the ice pack again.

Dean nods once. "All right." He leans forward to press his mouth very, very gently against Cas' busted lips. When he pulls away, he whispers. "I gotta go take care of this. I love you."

There is no protest. Cas knows who Dean is, how Dean operates. He knows this won't go unaddressed. He knows there's no stopping Dean until blood has been spilled in retribution.

Instead, he says simply, "I love you, too."

"Got a ride home?"

"'Zar is on his way."

"All right. I'll come by later tonight, yeah?"

"I'll be expecting you."

* * *

Dean calls Benny, Jesse, and Pamela, and tells them each to bring a couple more people. God knows Azazel and his crew will be next to nothing or them to handle, but this is about more than kicking their asses. This is about revenge, about hitting them so hard and so fast they'll hardly know they've even _been_ hit. About doing to them what they did to Cas, only meaner and messier.

This is about sending a message.

Cas may be a Novak, but first and foremost he's _Dean's._ No one touches any of Dean's people and gets away unscathed, but you would have to be a special brand of _really fucking stupid_ to touch Cas.

So now there's a lesson to be taught, a message to be sent, written in blood and spoken in violence.

Lucky for Dean, blood and violence were his first languages.

* * *

He gets to Cas' house a little past seven that evening. Anna, bless her sweet little heart, opens the door before Dean can knock, takes one look at him and what he's got in his hand, and sneaks him up the stairs to Cas' room without a word.

Cas is sitting on his bed, propped up against the headboard, reading in the low light of the lamp beside his bed. He looks up when the door opens and gives Dean a small, tired smile. Dean's heart thumps hard against his ribcage in response.

He already left his shoes at the door, but he slips his jacket off, and after a moment's thought, his jeans, too. He grabs Cas' gift and crawls into bed next to him. Cas lifts the covers obligingly and presses against Dean's side under his arm as soon as he's settled.

Dean hands the bakery bag over. "Two cake donuts with icing and rainbow sprinkles, one chocolate and one vanilla."

Cas heaves a happy sigh and cuddles closer while opening the bag. "You're a godsend."

Dean kisses his temple. "Damn right. How're you feeling?"

"Very sore. Tired. Like I'd like to stuff these donuts down my throat and sleep for a year."

Dean smiles, but he knows it's strained. He's glad Cas is looking down at his pastries. "Well, I got the donuts covered, and I can offer at least eight hours of sleep. Sam and Anna are covering for us, so I can stay with you 'till morning. I'll sneak out the window and swing Baby around, make your mom think I'm picking you up for school."

Cas smiles faintly. "She despises when you pick me up for school."

"'S why I suggested it."

Cas melts into him a little and Dean holds him gently as he slowly eats his donuts, being careful of his lip. Cas doesn't have a lot of weird little quirks, but donuts as comfort food was one of the first that Dean learned.

Once Cas is done and Dean has tossed the bag into a trash can across the room, Cas reaches for Dean's hand and pulls it into his lap. Dean lets him, watching with his nose buried in Cas' hair (reminding himself that Cas is safe now and that Dean _took care of it)_ as Cas traces Dean's knuckles with a feather-light touch. They're split open on both hands, no longer bleeding but obviously only hours old. There's really only one way to get wounds like that.

"Thank you," Cas says softly, finally.

"Anything for you, gorgeous," Dean whispers, and means it more than he's ever meant anything.

* * *

Azazel Masters and Jake Talley don't come back to school.

* * *

 _\- Cake donuts with icing and rainbow sprinkles = life._


	10. Studying

At some point in Dean's life, someone told him that he's not very smart. It must have been someone important to him, although everyone who's close to him seems to be very supportive. Castiel can't imagine who it could have been. Maybe it was an offhand, throwaway comment that somehow lodged itself into Dean's psyche and stayed there. At this point, there's no way to know for sure.

Whoever that person is, Castiel would cheerfully wring their neck.

The thing is, Dean _is_ smart. His brain's ability to retain technical knowledge and practical know-how is astounding. He has a knack for history, too, and is able to recall obscure dates without hesitation.

Unfortunately, Dean thinks he's stupid, which sometimes means that he has a defeatist attitude toward studying. Which means that instead of reading over the notes, book, or the study guide the teacher provided, Dean is using his notebook as a pillow and quite obviously _sleeping_ during study hall.

 _Appalling._

Cas aims a hard kick to the leg of Dean's desk. The jolt wakes Dean up. He blinks sleepy green eyes and grins at Cas, who has to work not to find it endearing.

"Wake up," Cas hisses. "The chemistry test is tomorrow and we both know you need to study."

Something unreadable flashes in Dean's eyes before he shrugs and smiles lazily. "C'mon, Cas, you know I'm not gonna pass."

"Well, not if you don't _study."_

"Doesn't matter," Dean says with another shrug. "I'm not as smart as you are, Cas. Don't see why I should waste time studying when it's not gonna help."

Castiel has tried to be patient. He is aware that self-esteem problems should be handled gently, with kid gloves. He knows that only patience, love, and time will make Dean see himself as Cas sees him, as smart and loyal and irritatingly wonderful.

Castiel knows all of this, but he is not a _saint,_ for God's sake.

"Dean Winchester," Cas says harshly. "You need to pass this class to graduate, and you need to pass this test to pass this class. Get your goddamn notes out and start studying, because I expect _nothing_ less than a B."

Dean's eyebrows shoot to his hairline, and his eyes go hard and flat. "Is that right?" he drawls.

This is a risk. Dean has been laidback about Cas being controlling, but there's a chance this may be too much. Cas can't stand by idly, however, and watch Dean throw away his chance to graduate, to further his education.

(Not that Cas particularly cares one way or another, really, but Dean has set college up as some sort of holy grail that only Sam is worthy of. Cas is determined that Dean will get there, too.)

Despite his fear, Cas keeps his gaze steady and his voice hard. "I won't date someone who isn't planning on graduating, Dean."

Castiel will never admit how apprehensive he is during the stare-down that follows. If Dean stonewalls him, he has no idea what he'll do.

Finally, after a million years go by, Dean slumps. "Dammit, Cas."

Cas smiles, almost dizzy with relief. Then, because he knows how hard this is for Dean, "Thank you."

Dean rolls his eyes, but his expression is warm and fond. "Yeah, yeah. What do I get if I pass?"

" _When_ you pass, I'm sure I'll find an appropriate way to express my pride."

Dean gives a blatant, proprietary once-over that sets Cas' blood on fire. "Yeah?"

"Of course, Dean."

* * *

When Dean passes the test with a solid A-minus, Cas drags him to the second story boy's bathroom during study hall and shows him _exactly_ how proud he is.


	11. Family Business

_Damn Cas and his stupid ultimatums,_ Dean thinks without heat as he puts his physics homework away. It's done, and it wasn't all that difficult, but Cas drives a hard bargain when it comes to schoolwork and withholding sex if it doesn't get done. Dean doesn't think he means it, Cas wants it just as bad as Dean does, but he's also not willing to take any chances.

He's putting everything into his backpack (which he has to _use_ now, Christ) when four rapid knocks followed by two slower knocks rap against his bedroom door. It's a code he and Sammy devised long ago, a way of identifying themselves to one another without speaking.

Dean blinks. "Come in, Sam."

Sam comes in and closes the door behind him quickly. By force of habit, Dean checks Sam over for blood or injuries, but the kid looks fine, if a little shaken up.

"What's wrong?"

Sam sits on the bed and pushes his shaggy hair back out of his face. Dean turns in his desk chair to face his little brother and give him his full attention. Sam is one of only a few people who warrant Dean's regard like that, and Dean takes pretty much everything Sam says seriously.

"I overheard Mom and Dad talking."

"... Okay?"

Sam huffs out an impatient breath. "I overheard them talking about the Walker deal."

Dean's eyebrows go up in surprise. Sam usually tries to ignore the family business like he thinks if he doesn't acknowledge it, it doesn't exist. Dean's always thought it was kind of a naive strategy, but he respects Sam's wishes.

So he's kind of surprised that Sam knows about the Walker deal at all, much less that he knows enough to be freaked out by whatever he heard.

"What about it?"

"They're demanding a bigger cut."

Dean blinks again. "Oh. Well… That's…"

"Ballsy?"

" _Phenomenally_ stupid."

Sam nods. "I know."

Dean leans back in his chair. "Okay, then. What's got your panties in a twist?"

Sam frowns. "Because they actually had the nerve to _ask."_

That's… Actually a really good point. It's the first time Dean's ever heard of anything like this, and his parents wouldn't hide it from him if it had happened before. As long as they shut it down hard and fast, nothing will come of it.

 _But it should never have happened in the first place._

Dean leans forward to ruffle Sam's hair. "Thanks for telling me. I'll figure it out."

Sam fixes his hair with a glower, but still asks, "How?"

Dean shrugs. "Dunno. Gotta talk to Cas."

Sam tilts his head and examines Dean closely enough that it's uncomfortable.

" _What?"_ Dean demands.

"You're… Gonna talk to Cas about this."

"Uh… Yeah?"

"About family business."

Dean frowns. "Yeah."

"About _family business."_

"... Yeah?"

Sam leans back onto his hands. "And that doesn't strike you as odd?"

"... Uh, no? Why would it?"

"Because he's… And look, I'm not trying to downplay your relationship or anything, but he's not _technically_ family."

Dean sees red for a moment, but he beats it back and tries to see Sam's point. It takes some effort, but he _can_ see where the twerp is coming from. Dean has always been a little obsessive about family, and about keeping the family's secrets. Dean guesses that, from the outside, it could seem out of character of him to want to talk to Cas.

If someone wasn't privy to the monumental changes in his heart and mind, rendered by one pale, snarky boy, it would seem downright strange.

With that in mind, Dean says, "He _is_ family."

The significance of those words has Sam's eyes widening. "Wait, seriously?"

Dean nods, nervous. He's never said that about a partner before. Hell, he's never _had_ a partner before. He has no idea what the protocol is here.

But Sam just smiles. "Yeah? Good. I like Cas."

Relief almost bowls Dean over. "Thanks, Sammy."

"Whatever, jerk."

"Bitch."


	12. Performance

"You don't have to come," Cas says nonchalantly. He doesn't even look up from where he's taking notes.

Dean would be hurt, or offended, or _something,_ but he knows Cas too well. Cas isn't lying, not really. He wouldn't be upset if Dean didn't go, except that he would be, he'd just bury it so quickly and thoroughly that he wouldn't even know he'd been disappointed.

Dean knows that Cas loves him, but Cas still thinks that emotions are a weakness. Dean doesn't know where that mindset came from, necessarily, but he thinks her name is Naomi and he thinks she's a bitch.

Regardless, Dean doesn't take it personally. Sure, they're doing the two steps forward one step back thing, but Dean doesn't mind. Mary Winchester always says that nothing good comes for free. It makes sense to Dean, to the part of him that is his mother's son, that is constantly weighing everything, that Cas is a lot of work and patience. Cas is _worth it._

So Dean reaches across the table and taps the top of Cas' notebook until Cas raises those crazy blue eyes to meet Dean's. When he does, Dean grins.

"Wouldn't miss it for anything, gorgeous."

* * *

Apparently, the world of Novak, being a Well-Rounded Adult means that ou must have an artistic pursuit as well as academic. Which is weird to Dean, since in the world of Winchester, you just have to know how to hustle pool and look dumber than you are, but to each their own.

The people here are dressed to the nines, which kind of freaks Dean out. He ditched the leather jacket and is wearing a dark button-down and a pair of dark-wash jeans that only have a hole in one knee, so he got a little gussied up, but he's seeing evening dresses, for God's sake.

 _Only for Cas,_ he thinks sullenly.

The lights in the lobby flash, signalling two minutes until the start of the show. Dean makes his way through a crowd of people who are way overdressed for a high school recital and goes down to the second row where his seat is. He pulled a string or two to be sat so close to the stage, _especially_ since he wanted to sit right next to Mrs. Naomi Novak.

As he plunks down in his chair, he has to admit that she's _good._ She only stiffens infinitesimally when he sits. _Good poker face._

Fortunately, Dean's is better.

"Mrs. Novak," he says politely, looking at the printed program in his hand instead of her.

"Dean," she acknowledges, ice in her voice.

There's no need to get into a verbal bitch fight with Cas' mom, though, no matter how much Dean wants to. First of all, Cas would disapprove. Mostly, though, engaging Naomi right now would send the wrong message.

Dean's not here for some pissing contest. He's here for Cas and Cas alone.

The heavy velvet curtain rises as the house lights dim. The school orchestra is sprawled elegantly across the stage, and Cas is set apart, front and center, violin already tucked beneath his chin.

 _Goddamn._ Cas, who's always overdressed, has made no exception for tonight. Black slacks and a black dress shirt make his bright blue tie and ice blue waistcoat pop with color. He looks delectable.

Dean has about four seconds to feel smug _(yeah, I'm tapping that)_ before the conductor makes a gesture and Cas starts to play.

Dean has heard Cas play before, of course. Cas practices obsessively, one hour a day after school and a couple a day on weekends. He knows, sort of vaguely, that Cas is pretty good.

He _thought_ he knew, anyway.

Like this, with the rest of the orchestra swelling behind the sound of the solo, Cas is _incredible._ Dean has no idea what piece they're playing, but he's spellbound by the music, by the peaceful but focused look on Cas' face.

Objectively, the concert probably only goes on for half an hour, maybe forty minutes, but Dean loses time. He's enraptured by the performance, by the _feeling_ Cas somehow manages to cram into the performance. When the conductor turns to take a bow, then to have Cas bow, Dean blinks. He feels stiff, like he hasn't moved in a long time. Which is probably true.

The crowd around him is politely clapping, but fuck that. Plus, even if he's not here to fight with Cas' mother, there's no sense in passing up a chance to irritate the piss out of her.

So Dean sticks two fingers in his mouth and lets out the loudest wolf whistle he can manage. There's the briefest of pauses in the applause around him, and Naomi stiffens like she heard a gunshot, but Dean ignores all of them. Cas' eyes have zeroed in on him, and although Cas raises an imperious brow and his cheeks are tinged pink, that blue gaze is pleased and warm.

Eventually, the students are released and they start to come down the steps at the side of the stage to meet their families. Cas is one of the first down, and Dean shamelessly hops over the first row of chairs so he can get to Cas before Naomi does.

As soon as he's there, he sweeps Cas into his arms and kisses him hard and filthy. Cas responds in kind, the hand not holding his violin case twisted up in Dean's shirt to keep him close.

Here, in the space between them, the space that's quiet and just for them, before the outside world can intervene, Dean whispers, "You did great, gorgeous."

Cas' eyes sparkle. "Thank you, Dean."

"... Hey, you mine, Cas?"

"Always."


	13. Let Me

"Let me," Cas growls against Dean's mouth, "let me." And because Dean is a _gift,_ he does.

Cas is a study in contradictions in every aspect of their entwined lives. Normally, he wants rigid control over both of them. In bed, though, he gives it up, lets Dean tell him what to do and what to say and when to come It's mind-blowingly hot, really.

Cas is still a teenage boy, though, no matter what he wants to believe, and sometimes he just _needs it._

Because, again, Dean is a giver, he always goes to him when Cas gets like that. Oh, he's still more dominant than not, especially because Cas is always begging and needy like this, but he lets Cas have what he wants.

" _Fuck,"_ Cas growls, shoving Dean back against the Impala. " _Keys."_

Dean hooks a hand around the back of Cas' neck and tugs him close to kiss him hard. Cas comes alive, a wildcat in Dean's arms, biting and scratching and desperate. Dean's so hard he can feel precome making his boxers stick to the head of his cock.

He manages to get the car unlocked just as Cas loses whatever patience he had. Cas bites Dean's lower lip hard enough to draw blood and send excitement skittering down his spine. Dean pulls the back door open and laughs when Cas shoves him into the backseat. Cas just growls and crawls in on top of him, slamming the door shut behind them.

After that, it's a blur of clothes flying off, Cas' desperate, bratty demands, and Dean going with the flow. They end up with Dean shirtless, on his back, with his jeans and boxers pulled down to mid-thigh. Above him, Cas' shirt is unbuttoned and hanging loose, framing his thin chest and flat belly rather nicely. His pants and briefs are on the floor, where he has one foot braced. The other leg is wedged between the backseat and Dean's hip.

He's ever wet dream Dean has ever had.

Cas rips open the packet of lube he got from Dean's wallet (it pays to be prepared when you're dating a human hurricane like Castiel Novak) and drizzles it over his fingers. Dean keeps his own hands on Cas' hips, just watching hungrily when his boyfriend reaches back and moans as he starts to finger himself open.

He frowns, though, when Cas shuffles forward and pulls his hand free after just a few moments. "Cas?"

"Still loose from last night," Cas says, his voice absolutely wrecked with need.

Dean tries to hold Cas' hips still, but he moans when Cas wraps his fingers around Dean's cock and pumps, smearing leftover lube around.

" _Shit."_

"Dean," Cas growls. "I need you."

Dean forces himself to focus on Cas again He reaches up to cup Cas' face. "Hey, I know I don't want you to hurt yourself is all, baby."

Cas' blue eyes are burning and manic. Dean… Probably shouldn't find that quite as hot as he does.

"But what if I want it to hurt?"

Before Dean can respond, Cas is sinking down on his cock, making his vision blur as he's suddenly sheathed in white-hot tightness.

Cas makes a keening sound that's barely human, raw and animalistic. He takes a beat to adjust, then plants his hands on Dean's bare chest and starts to ride him like a man possessed.

Dean is frequently caught off-guard by Cas' ethereal beauty, and tonight is no different. The light from the street lamps outside has cast him in warm orange and cool black shadow, highlighting all of his sharp edges.

 _Goddamn, he's pretty._

" _Dean,"_ Cas gasps, "I'm close."

Dean smirks and comes back to himself. He's still entranced by Cas, by the sight of him working himself over on Dean's dick like he's getting paid for it, but this is familiar territory once more. He knows what Cas needs, and he'd rather die on the spot than leave Cas hanging.

"Yeah? Gonna come for me gorgeous?"

Cas whines, high and pretty. " _Yes."_

Dean nods down at Cas' swollen cock, looking painfully hard and wet at the head. "Go on then, sweetheart. You wanted it so bad, you make yourself come for me."

"Oh _God,"_ Cas moans. He sounds broken and beautiful. He wraps a trembling hand around his cock and thrusts himself back and forth almost helplessly, fucking his fist, then impaling himself open on Dean.

Dean, who's holding back his orgasm with the last shreds of self-control he has.

It only takes a few thrusts before Cas is coming with a wail. Dean watches, rapt and adoring, his own orgasm almost secondary to the way Cas' chest and belly become flush with pleasure.

Cas slumps against him, and Dean catches him with a soft "oomph." He winces when his over-sensitive cock slips free, but he gently helps Cas maneuver himself so he's resting on Dean's chest and their legs are tangled.

"I love you," Cas murmurs softly where his face is pressed to Dean's neck.

Love, possessiveness, obsession, and passion beat their way through Dean's face in a fierce rhythm. He opens his mouth to express everything Cas makes him feel, just like he does every time they do this, but what comes out is a simple, "Love you, too, baby."

From the smile he can feel on Cas' face, though, his message is heard loud and clear.


	14. Hero

Cas is walking with Dean down the main hall, reading through the assignment requirements for an essay due in his English Literature class, when a familiar voice shouts, "Dean!"

The arm around his shoulders tightens there to bring him to a stop. Dean smiles sunnily as a streak of red hair announces Anna's presence. She barrels up to them and grins at Dean, eyes shining.

"Hiya, squirt," Dean says easily. "What's up?"

Castiel blinks. _When did Dean and Anna become friends?_

"I wanted to say thank you for the advice," she says, fast and breathy.

"Did it help?"

She nods enthusiastically. "Yeah, it worked great! Just like you said it would!"

Dean ruffles her hair, and Cas watches in bewilderment as his gentle, softspoken little sister blushes and giggles as she bats his boyfriend's hand away.

"I'm glad," Dean says fondly. "Now get outta here. You're gonna be late, squirt."

Anna nods, pauses awkwardly, then flings herself forward and hugs Dean fiercely before waving at Cas and darting away. Dean blinks, then chuckles and resumes walking them toward their physics class.

After no explanation is forthcoming, Cas says, "What the _hell_ was that all about?"

Dean shrugs. "Some girls in her grade were giving her shit. She asked for some help with how to deal with them." He smiles a little. "I'm glad it worked. She's a sweet kid."

Anna is barely a year younger than them, but that's not what has Cas frowning.

"Why did she ask you rather than come to me?"

Some of what he's feeling must be in his voice, because Dean whips around to look him in the eye.

It's just that… Well, Castiel is well aware that he's not the most _approachable_ person on the planet, but he's always considered his relationship with Anna a close one. He really quite adores his sister, and it stings that she didn't feel like she could come to him if she was having a problem.

Dean's face softens and he pulls Cas into their almost empty physics classroom. He moves them into the back corner, and their reputation is enough to keep anyone from moving closer.

"Baby," Dean says sweetly. "Anna loves the shit out of you, you know that. You're her _hero."_

Cas blinks again. _Her hero?_

Dean is still talking. "She looks up to you, Cas, so fuckin' much. I think she just didn't want you to see her struggling. She doesn't want you to think she's weak or something."

Cas let those words sink in. It makes sense, he supposes. He _has_ been Anna's main defense against their harpy of a mother since before he can remember. And though they _are_ close, both personally and in age, the gap between their actual ages has become more apparent thane ver as he prepares to graduate.

He nods. "I'm… Relieved, then, that she feels safe talking to you about such matters."

Dean's lovely green eyes shine with emotion for just a beat before he gives Cas that cocky grin that he hates/loves/craves.

"Yeah, I'm the Novak whisperer."

Cas snorts inelegantly and revels in the laugh it pulls from Dean.

* * *

Later that night, as Cs readies himself for bed, Anna appears in his doorway.

He sets his book down on his bedside table and turns to give her his full attention as she hovers there, almost _nervous._ They're both in their pajamas, though, and somehow, without the armor of their proper clothes and perfect grooming, it's easier to be vulnerable this way. Easier to talk to one another.

"Anna?" he asks.

She nods. "I just…" She seems to brace herself. "This is stupid, but I just wanted to tell you that I really like Dean, and I think you're really good together." She speaks so fast the words bleed into one another, but Cas understands her perfectly.

His heart warms, and he gives her an honest smile, the one he saves for her and Dean alone.

"Thank you, Anna," he says, voice low and heartfelt. "That means a lot to me."

Her answering smile is like sunshine.


	15. No Good for You

"Cassie!" Balthazar shouts.

Castiel scowls, because he almost made it out, but he stops and turns to look at his friend. "Yes?" he bites out.

Balthazar, unfazed by Castiel's obviously sour mood, just smiles. "Someone's a little grouchy, eh? Missing your man?"

"What do you want, Balthazar?" Castiel growls. He _does_ want to go to Dean, and this conversation is holding him up more than is acceptable.

"Just checking to see if you would be at Lafitte's tonight, but I suppose your attitude has already answered that question, hasn't it?" he asks, one blonde eyebrow arched.

Castiel doesn't lower himself to respond verbally. He spins on his heel and stalks out of the school.

* * *

Several hours later, Cas is sitting on Dean's bed, reading his book and gently carding his fingers through Dean's sweaty, damp hair.

The flu has swept through Pontiac Prep with a viciousness that has felled around half of the student body. Cas has somehow managed to keep himself healthy, but Dean folded like a cheap lawn chair. He's been sick for a few days now, and though Castiel thinks they're on the other side of the worst of it, his poor boyfriend is still miserable.

He feels Dean press his face into Cas' leg and whimper, so he flips his book page side down and turns all of his attention to Dean.

His handsome face is flushed and sweaty. His hair lies flat in some places and sticks up wildly in others. His green eyes are glazed and bright with fever, but he manages a shaky smile for Castiel. Cas' heart squeezes in his chest and he brushes his fingers through Dean's hair again. Dean has taken some heavy-duty medication given to him by an in-home nurse who came by, so he's rather incoherent. Even high, sick, and out of his mind, though, he's the most lovely thing Castiel has ever seen.

"Hi," Cas whispers, soft in a way he can only be with Dean. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I went three rounds with a bear," Dean croaks, his voice rough with sickness. He frowns a little. "What're you doin' here, Cas?" He starts to pull away, weak though he is. "Gon' get you sick."

Cas puts a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder to keep him in place. "Shh, I'll be fine, Dean. Rest."

But Dean is still struggling to move away. "Already bad 'nough for you," he mutters, almost to himself. "Don't wan' be worse."

Castiel frowns. "What do you mean?"

Dean's attempts to move stop and he looks up at Cas, almost childlike in his honesty. "Cas," he says slowly, frankly, "I'm no good for you. You're… Better'n me, anyway. Shh, though, 'cause you'll notice'n you'll leave me." Tears swim in Dean's eyes, and Castiel's heart breaks neatly in two. "Can't let you go, Cas."

Castiel frowns harder. Dean's self-esteem issues run deeper than he thought, and he was already aware that they were significant. It's something that will have to be rectified, especially if Dean thinks he's _bad_ for Castiel.

Maybe their relationship isn't always the healthiest, but even Cas himself can see the ways in which Dean has improved him. He's less uptight, less unforgiving, less sparse with his smiles and laughter. He has something to look forward to every day, outside of defying his mother. The beat of his heart is a soft, gentle refrain of _Dean Dean Dean,_ and that's just how Castiel wants it.

It's a problem for a different day, however. For now, Cas cups Dean's cheek in his hand and runs a tender thumb beneath his eye.

"Shh, Dean," he soothes. "Go back to sleep. I'm not going anywhere."

Dean squints suspiciously at him even as he cuddles closer and wraps a trembling arm around Cas' leg to keep him still. "Promise?" he demands, so unlike his usual easygoing self. Castiel wonders if he needs to make it clearer to Dean that there is nowhere he'd rather be than right next to him, or if Dean already knows that and it's just his medicine making him hazy.

"I promise," he vows softly.

* * *

Mary walks in several hours later to the sight of Castiel propped between the headboard and the wall, fast asleep. His fingers still move restlessly in Dean's hair. Her son is asleep against Cas' leg, snoring hard and dead to the world.

Mary smiles, flicks the light off, and quietly shuts the bedroom door.


	16. December, and then January

_**In December…**_

Castiel keeps a stiff, formal smile on his face as another board member from a local university wishes him a happy birthday. The man is short, round, sweaty, and inexplicably smells like sausage.

 _I would rather set myself on fire than attend your school._

"Thank you for your kind wishes," he says instead.

His eighteenth birthday party is tastefully decorated, delectably catered, and well-attended by all of his mother's peers, colleagues, and several representatives from area colleges. None of Cas' friends have been invited, save Balthazar, who has been miserably stuck to his own rich, overbearing mother's side.

Castiel himself was only allowed to invite one guest. There was no contest.

"Cas, this is too fancy," Dean murmurs in his ear. "You'll have to help me. I dunno which fork to kill myself with."

Cas was right. Dean hates it here.

"Absolutely not," Cas says through smiling teeth as the smelly board member ambles away. "You are not permitted to leave me here alone under any circumstance."

Dean kisses his temple lightly and wraps an arm around Cas' waist to bring him close. "All right, all right," he grumbles. "Only for you, gorgeous."

Cas smiles, a real one now. Dean is his usual walking embodiment of disrespect in a pair of ripped jeans _("Only on one side, though, so. Y'know. Fancy.")_ and a button-up, untucked and with the top two buttons undone. Everything about him screams _I don't belong here._

Cas wants to strip him bare and ride him on the buffet table.

The thought of his mother's horrified face if he were to act on his impulse keeps him going. This party is a farce, a networking opportunity for Naomi as opposed to an actual celebration for himself. Not that birthdays have ever been anything but in the Novak house, but he thought his eighteenth would warrant _something,_ maybe. Although he's not sure why, Michael's certainly didn't, and Naomi just _adores_ Michael.

Dean is his saving grace (as usual). Dean hasn't stopped making fun of this spectacle since he walked in the door, raised an insolent eyebrow at Naomi, and made a beeline for Cas. He smells good, looks good, and feels good, smiling at Cas' side with his arm tight around him. He steadies Cas, somehow, makes the sting of disappointment less bitter with his tender touch and sharp words for Cas' mother.

 _Dear God, I want him._

Cas opens his mouth to say so when Dean frowns.

"Hey, did that guy smell like breakfast to you?"

* * *

 _ **In January…**_

It looks to Dean like the entire senior class is here. He smirks, watching from the corner as all of his rich, uptight, preppy classmates finally loosen up a little and become real people for a while.

As he observes, the academics and the scholarships are playing spin-the-bottle and laughing their asses off. Their ar jocks talking to over-achievers in another corner, having some sort of animated discussion that seems friendly enough, at least. Pontiac Prep's very small stoner clique even showed up, and their corner of the barn is a smoky haze that Dean would have been _all over_ before Cas.

When Dean asked his parents about renting out the big rustic barn and having a few drinks for his birthday party, they agreed after only a cursory explanation. Sure, it's a little different than what these rich kids are used to, but Dean's got a plan.

He wanted a birthday party, of course, but this is all about networking. He wouldn't have let Sam come near this party with a ten-foot pole, but some people Dean trusts almost as much have their eyes peeled. They're building alliances tonight as well as gathering intel, making friends while simultaneously taking note of who's misbehaving and how.

He's been calling it a "working party" in his head and laughing at his own joke for over a week.

"It's your birthday," a jet engine voice says softly from next to him, interrupting his survey of the room. "Shouldn't you be out there with your friends?"

Dean looks over at Cas, unsuccessfully trying to stop his heart from thudding so painfully in his chest. Cas, even, has dressed down deliciously. A neat white t-shirt with a modest v-neck, crisp, dark skinny jeans, converse sneakers, and a cut blazer that shows off his slender build. Even though he's holding a hipster craft beer, he's so sexy it hurts. Dean wants to _devour_ him.

A sparkle in those blue eyes tells Dean that Cas knows exactly what kind of effect he's having. If Dean wasn't so fucking gone on him, he'd say something about it. As it is, he gives into the endless desire to be as close as possible to one Castiel Novak.

"I," Dean says, putting as much swagger into his voice as possible, "am right where I wanna be, sweetheart."

Cas rolls his eyes, but to Dean's delight, he doesn't move away when Dean crowds into his space. Cas just tilts his head back and smiles."

"That was lame," he chides gently.

Dean grins. "You're into it."

Cas is reaching up to wrap his arms around Dean's neck, bottle dangling from long, elegant fingers. "I am," he admits, always bending easier when it's just the two of them.

Now that he's right up close, Dean can see that Cas is uncomfortable, off-kilter. Not visibly, of course, but Dean is well on his way to figuring the boy in front of him out. The skin around his eyes is tight, and maybe he's not _tense,_ per se, but he's alert, coiled, unable to relax in such an unfamiliar environment.

And even if this _is_ sort of a working event for Dean, that just won't do.

Cas has gone to parties. He's even tried his hand at rebellion a time or two. This, though, fun and debauchery for the sake of it, especially since Dean's parents know exactly what's going on here and left them with a simple "Be safe!" before they went back home? This is foreign territory for Cas.

Dean aches to comfort Cas with warm words and gentle touches, but Cas doesn't respond to anything like a normal person. The implication that he needs gentleness is also, to Cas, an implication that he is weak.

Cas is complicated.

So instead, Dean smirks. "Hey, Cas?"

One dark, sculpted eyebrow raises. "Yes, Dean?"

Beneath the snarky armor, there's relief in Cas' eyes. Cas trusts Dean, somehow, to make him feel better, to make him relax and enjoy himself. Damn if it doesn't go straight to Dean's head and make him feel ten feet tall.

Dean plans one hand on the wall next to Cas' head and looms close. Cas' breath catches, almost unnoticeable. Then again, there's not much Dean doesn't notice about Cas.

Dean leans close enough that his lips just brush the shell of Cas' ear.

"You ever make out in a dark corner with someone your parents don't approve of?"

* * *

 _\- The fork line is from New Girl._


	17. Control

Naomi Novak is proud.

After Bartholomew died, she held herself and her family together. She kept an eagle eye on her portfolios, made keen investments, and greased the right palms to keep herself wealthy and influential. She worked _hard,_ dammit, and to show for it, she has an immaculate home, a sterling reputation, and three perfect children.

Three perfect children and Castiel.

She doesn't know where Castiel's stubborn refusal to be obedient comes from. Certainly not herself or his father (Lord knows Bartholomew was at his best when he had clear directions to follow). Regardless, the boy came off the line looking _nothing_ like her other children, a spark of defiance in his blue eyes seemingly from birth, and a crack in his chassis.

He would be easy to dismiss, she thinks, if he was a bit dim. Unfortunately, Castiel has a wicked intelligence (that he got from her) and a keenly strategic mind (also from Naomi). He's impossible to ignore, and he _knows_ it, the wretched thing. He uses his smarts to defy her at every available opportunity. His blue eyes _(where_ did they come from?") seem to always be calculating, weighing, searching for a chink in her armor.

Really, she never had a chance of controlling Castiel.

Michael is quite easily led (like his father before him), and Hannah seems to be going that way, too. Anna idolizes Castiel, however, and is another in a long list of reasons that Naoi is shamefully relieved that Castiel has, despite (or perhaps because of) her attempts to lure him to a local college, decided to go to a university on one of the coasts.

There, he will take his needless defiance, his wicked intelligence, his damnably smart mouth, and his absolute _ruffian_ of a "boyfriend," and be gone.

 _At least then,_ she thinks, _I'll have control of my household again._


	18. Of Course

Dean has a question. He hasn't said anything, but he's not very subtle, fidgeting and glancing at Cas every minute or so. Castiel doesn't intend to bring it up until Dean does, though. Dean will come to him with whatever is on his mind when he's ready.

They're studying in Cas' bedroom since Dean's parents are using the Winchester house for some sort of working meeting. Dean is sprawled lazily on the floor, surrounded by scattered papers and books, while Cas sits primly at his rigorously organized desk. The yellow light of his desk lamp casts Dean in hues of gold, making it difficult to look away from him.

Look away Cas does, however. They have an essay due the next afternoon, and Dean's ego doesn't need more fuel ( as far as his looks go, anyway).

He only gets to pretend he's not watching his boyfriend from the corner of his eye before Dean speaks.

"Uh… Hey, Cas?"

"Hmm?"

Dean is silent for a few beats, prompting Cas to turn fully toward him. He's biting his full lower lip _(that's mine)_ and his eyes are downcast, uncharacteristically shy. If he didn't know Dean so well, Cas would think it's an act. As it is, he knows it's genuine, that Dean is nervous about what he's going to ask.

"Dean? What is it?"

Dean shrugs, still not looking up. "I just, uh... Graduation is in a few weeks."

Castiel nods. Dean will find his way to a point eventually. "It is."

"And I was kinda wondering…" Dean finally glances up to meet his eyes for a breath before looking back down. "What's, uh. What's the plan after that?"

 _Oh. Oh, my._

Dean is cocky, arrogant, assured. Dean _swaggers_ when he walks, smiles confidently when he talks, and meets any situation that doesn't fit the way he wants it to with charisma and fists, if necessary. Dean has every appearance of being unshakable in his belief that the world will lie at his feet and thank him for the opportunity.

But that's not who Dean _really_ is.

Dean somehow got the impression that he is less, that he is unworthy. Unwilling to address this part of himself, he puts up a front, an almost unbreakable mask. Dean would rather pull out his own teeth than talk about his feelings, so he simply pretends they don't exist.

Castiel knows, though. He has seen past the (admittedly, rather lovely) mask and into the vulnerable, beautiful soul beneath.

And then he claimed it as his.

As such, it is his personal responsibility to ensure that Dean feels no trepidation whatsoever about their future.

So Cas rises from his chair and puts an extra slink in his walk as he goes to Dean. Without words, he gently pushes Dean over until his boyfriend is on his back, looking warily up at Cas as he goes to his knees, straddling Dean's waist. He sits there, then cups Dean's face with his hands and looks him straight in the eye, never giving him an opportunity to do anything but believe everything Castiel says.

"We're going to California," he says gravely, "to Stanford. Sam will join us there to earn his law degree." He doesn't share that he is quite insistent that Dean, too, will attend school and graduate. Dean's not _quite_ ready to hear that yet, Cas thinks.

He is, however, ready to hear this. "After I get my bachelor's degree," and, oh dear, there's a bit of a wobble in Cas' voice now, "you and I will be married. Your parents will attend, mine will not. Sam and Anna will stand with us. It will be a small, intimate ceremony in a park of your choosing."

Dean's hands are resting on Cas' hips now, and they tighten infinitesimally. "Yeah?" he rasps, eyes almost glowing up at Cas with adoration and devotion.

"Yes," Cas says simply.

There's no need for more. They are such a sure thing, such an inevitability to both of them, that declarations of love are rendered obsolete (for now).

"What next?" Dean says.

Cas sits up a bit and smiles, because this is his next favorite part of the plan (second only to Dean).

"Then, we come back to Pontiac, use my mother's influence and money to gently but quite ruthlessly and thoroughly execute a takeover of your parents' business."

There's a lot there that could be considered assumption, but Cas knows as well as Dean they were always going to end up back on Pontiac. He can't leave Anna and Hannah here to rot under Naomi's rule, any more than Dean can leave his parents and their slipping hold on their criminal empire behind.

"Just like that, huh?" Dean asks, a smirk starting at the very corner of his lips.

"Of course," Cas says haughtily.

Dean surges upwards and presses their lips together, and just like every time, Cas flashes hot and cold a the touch.

"Of course," Dean murmurs against his mouth, and then proceeds to chase all thoughts of anything outside of the here and now from Cas' mind.


	19. A Favor

**From: Charlie Bradbury**

hey is dean w/ u?

Castiel frowns down at his phone. He's currently sitting in his advanced English course, the only class he doesn't share with Dean. Which Charlie knows, because she's in biology with Dean right now.

 **To: Charlie Bradbury**

Of course not. Isn't he with you?

 **From: Charlie Bradbury**

shit

ok mr r gave us our finals back and he was a real asshole to dean about his

im worried cas

Normally, Charlie's habit of texting like lightning is quite irritating, but Castiel is barely paying attention through the red haze of rage he's drowning in,

 _That motherfucker._

Mr. Alastair Rack, the biology teacher who to all appearances despises children, has taken a vicious delight in singling Dean out all year. He's gone out of his way to tear Dean down, to belittle or demean him in any way possible. Cas was out for blood immediately, wanted him fired, but Dean insisted he stand down, that it wasn't worth it. Castiel honored those wishes, albeit quite begrudgingly.

 _Well,_ Cas thinks, _no longer._

His focus right now, however, must be on Dean, not revenge. He pushes the anger to the back of his mind.

He goes through the formality of asking permission to leave the classroom, but a formality is all it is. He's going to find Dean, come hell, high water, or detention The teacher lets him go without a fuss, he assumes, because no one shouts at him as he leaves, but he doesn't actually care.

Every iota of his _considerable_ attention is entirely focused on finding Dean.

There are a few spots, Cas knows, that his boyfriend goes to hide and chain smoke when he's upset, regardless of how Castiel feels about the smell. That eliminates any indoor hiding spot immediately. He goes to the bleachers to no avail. The small patio off of the band room, similarly, yields no results. The other side of the school, which for some reason doesn't have nearly as many security cameras as the rest of the school, is empty.

Castiel finally finds Dean smoking behind the equipment shed. His shoulders are hunched, his face dark, and his eyes are red and wet. His hands tremble minutely when he brings the cigarette to his lips.

Castiel has often admired how little Dean tries to hide his emotions. Dean feels everything, positive or negative, freely, openly, unashamed. To someone as restrained as Castiel is, it's fascinating.

This, however, is unacceptable.

Cas doesn't hesitate to go to Dean, who rather gratifyingly doesn't hesitate to open his arms and wrap them around Cas tight, burying his face in Cas' neck.

"Oh, Dean," Cas murmurs. He cards his fingers through Dean's hair as he shakes and pointedly doesn't mention that they'll both smell like ashtrays after this.

Dean is silent, save for the occasional sniffle, for a long time. Cas holds him through it until Dean finally lifts his head. When he does, Cas pulls back just enough to cup that handsome face that he loves so much gently in his hands.

"I'm sorry," he says gravely, trying to put as much sincerity as he can into the words, "that that awful person lied to you about how beautiful and brilliant you are."

It's telling as to Dean's state of mind when he doesn't so much as blush at the compliment. He just shrugs and lets his eyes fall to look down at Cas' chest. Cas allows it for now.

"He is a small, horrible man who has no business being in the light you exude every day. You are so much _better_ than he will ever be, Dean. I hope at least a small part of you believes that."

Another shrug is his only answer, but the tightness in Dean's face eases a little. It feels like a hard-won victory, so Cas decides that he'll have to leave building Dean back up to another time.

"Will you let me take care of him now, my love? Please?"

It takes a long time, but Dean finally gives a tiny nod. Cas smiles and tilts Dean's head back up so he can press a soft, gentle kiss to those full lips he dreams about so often. Dean tastes like the salt of his tears.

"Thank you," Cas whispers.

"Love you," Dean rasps softly, almost a secret in the nonexistent space between them.

"And I, you."

* * *

There is very little Castiel Novak wouldn't do for Dean Winchester. It often seems, he knows, as if it's the other way around. His own aloofness gives the impression that he is less invested in Dean than Dean is in him. Dean has gotten into real fights for Castiel, has drawn blood and bled himself. It's an easy assumption to make.

Castiel's love for Dean, however, is just as passionate and ruthless as Dean's is for him. He is just as willing to fight tooth and nail for Dean. He just fights in a different arena than fists and blood.

Castiel really has always been best in a battle of strategy.

"Mother, I must ask a favor of you."

* * *

Alastair Rack is fired within the week. He never works as an educator again.


	20. Nobody But Us

The lights are suitably low in the ballroom the school has procured for the senior prom _(ridiculous,_ Cas thinks, _a needlessly extravagant waste of money)_ to allow the students the illusion of privacy, of adulthood, but not low enough to allow any real illicit activities. There are scattered tables on one side of the room, topped with elegant decorations and centerpieces. The other half of the room is bare but for the small stage where a live band plays music that neither Dean (strictly classic rock) nor Castiel (mostly classical and jazz, almost exclusively instrumental) listen to.

But for the opportunity to see Dean, handsome and smart in a simple black tux, nothing about prom night would be worth Castiel's time.

Dean _does_ look stunning, though, and Castiel as relished in the envious stares they've gotten all night. Bela Talbot looked like she swallowed her own tongue when she saw them standing next to one another at the refreshments table.

 _Serves the bitch right._

The song switches to a slower, more romantic tune. Castiel wouldn't notice at all, he's watching Balthazar try to wheedle Bela into dancing with him, but Dean squeezes his hand where they're entwined between them below the table.

Dean's green eyes are shining, imploring when Cas meets them.

"Dance with me, gorgeous?"

Cas scowls. Dean knows very well how Castiel feels about the kind of strange shuffling that passes for dancing at high school formals. The Novaks, of course, have all taken extensive ballroom dancing lessons, but Cas is quite sure that's not what Dean means.

But Dean asks for so few things, and he's still struggling after the biology final debacle. So Cas scowls, but he squeezes Dean's hand and nods his assent.

The way Dean's smile lights up his face with surprise and delight makes it quite worth it.

The crowd doesn't obviously part for them as they make their way to the dance floor, but they don't run into anyone, either. Dean wraps his strong arms around Cas' waist and pulls him close. Cas drapes his own arms around Dean's neck, and he can't quite help the way his lips quirk up into a tiny smile when Dean presses his cheek to Cas' and starts to sway them gently from side to side.

As the seconds slowly pass, Cas feels himself relaxing in Dean's hold. They're pressed together all the way down, folded into one another almost too intimately for public. He feels surrounded by Dean, drowning in his scent and his presence.

 _All right,_ he thinks hazily, _I might be beginning to understand why people enjoy this._

"Hey, Cas?" Dean murmurs, soft enough that it doesn't disturb the cloud of contentment Cas is floating in.

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

Castiel refrains from pointing out that Dean has already asked a question. "Mhmm."

Dean falls silent and Cas lets him. He's too content _(happy)_ to try to pry out of Dean what his boyfriend will offer freely in his own time.

"I…" Dean seems to steel himself. "Cas, I don't want to wait."

Cas hums again. "For?"

"To get married."

Only long practice at hiding his reactions from his mother (something Naomi absolutely despises, which is at least half of why he bothers) keeps Castiel from stiffening in surprise. Instead, after a beat, he hums thoughtfully.

"When, then?" He asks. He will deny to his dying day that his heart has picked up a fast beat, thudding against his ribcage in a delightfully uncomfortable rhythm.

Dean shrugs, and Castiel doesn't believe the nonchalance for a moment. They don't look at one another, still pressed cheek to cheek, still swaying slowly to the music.

"Sooner," Dean rasps. "Much sooner. Now. This weekend." He turns enough to whisper in Cas' ear. "We're eighteen now, gorgeous. We don't need 'em. Nobody but us, baby."

For all that Castiel sees himself as worldly, intelligent, and rational, he _is_ eighteen. For all of his grand plans, for all that he intends to accomplish with Dean, he is still a young man. A young man dancing in the arms of the man he loves to a slow, romantic melody.

For all that he views himself as, Castiel is wildly, desperately, _recklessly_ in love.

"Yes," he whispers, voice rough and eyes misty. "Yes. Tomorrow. We'll go tomorrow."

Dean lets him hide his face in his shoulder until he recovers his composure, but there is no way to hide their besotted smiles for the rest of the night.


	21. Graduation

Cas is irritated, Dean can tell. The signs aren't hard to miss. Pursed lips and angry blue eyes and his hair all fucked-wild and begging for Dean's fingers running through it. Dean would lose a hand if he tried, but it might be worth it.

Cas is resplendent in a black robe with pewter accents down the front. It makes his eyes glow in an unearthly way. Dean knows it's just stupid polyester over what Cas was wearing earlier, anyway, but it gets him hot under the collar.

A collar that Cas is reaching up and yanking at to straighten it.

"Did a toddler dress you?" Cas asks crossly. "For God's sake, Dean."

Cas' words are harsh, and Dean is certain his collar was just fine, but he lets Cad push him around and "fix" it without taking it personally. Really, he thinks it's cute that Cas is nervous. Cas will sit in front of hundreds of people and play until his fingers bleed, but he's scared of walking across a stage and getting a diploma.

 _Adorable,_ Dean thinks fondly as Cas bitches about his shoes.

"Novak! Winchester!"

Ms. Masters, a sharp-tongued administrator in a black dress so tight it _can't_ be considered school appropriate, raises an eyebrow when they whip around to look at her. Dean wants to give her a once-over, it's almost reflex when someone that hot is around, but he wants his eyes to stay in his head, thankyouverymuch. Cas is in a _mood._

"You're late," she says crisply. "Go to your seats."

She turns to go harass other students and Cas is frowning again. "As if I don't _know_ we're running late," he snaps.

Deciding that the lost limb is worth the risk, Dean wraps a hand around the back of Cas' neck and yanks him forward to kiss him hard, firmly, dominating. Cas struggles for only a beat before he relaxes into it, kissing back fiercely. His hands clench in Dean's oh-so-recently fixed collar.

"You're gonna be great," Dean says when they pull apart. "You're good at everything, Cas."

Cas harrumphs, but Dean really can't find him anything but endearing like this.

"Fine," Cas says, but he's softened a little, looks a little less on edge. "Let's go to our seats and get this over with."

Dean grins and kisses him again, then bends to whisper in Cas' ear. "And when this is over, we'll ditch the graduation parties our parents have worked so hard for, get in Baby, and drive 'till we hit the west coast, gorgeous. You and me."

Cas shudders at Dean's dark tone, and by the time Dean has finished speaking, Cas has relaxed completely. His pretty eyes shine up at Dean when he looks at him again.

"Of course," he says a bit breathily.

Dean nods. "All right. Let's go kick some graduation ass, baby."

Cas rolls his eyes at Dean's crassness, which was Dean's goal, and they make their way into the theater where graduation is being held.

In contrast to Castiel, Dean isn't nervous at all. Despite the shit that went down with his biology final (which was regraded and he passed just fine), he knows he's graduating with good grades. Cas thinks Dean doesn't know that he wants Dean to go to college, too, to _Stanford,_ no less, but Dean can read Cas like a damn book. So he's spent the last months working his ass of to get good enough grades to at least not be embarrassed when he applies. He doesn't know if he'll get in, but hell, if Cas wants it, Dean will die trying to get it.

As everyone finds their seats (alphabetical by last name, Cas somewhere in the middle and Dean close to dead last), Dean thinks about how terrifically _not_ scared of the future he is. Sure, there might be some bumps in the road. Sure, Cas and he are a little bit unhealthily obsessed with one another, and maybe that will come back to bite them in the ass. And, okay, sure, maybe their plans will crash and burn. Maybe they'll fall in love with California and stay there, and Dean will get to ogle Cas as they walk along a beach every day. Maybe they'll come back here, to Illinois, and Dean will get to ogle Cas in his sharp slacks and button-up shirts while they rule the town and its underbelly. Maybe they'll land somewhere in between, do something in between, and Dean will ogle Cas in ways he can't even imagine right now.

So, no, he doesn't know everything, he reflects as their valedictorian climbs the stage and takes her place at the podium. But he knows a few things.

He knows Cas loves him just as much as he loves Cas. He knows they secretly packed their bags and put them in Baby's trunk before they left. And he knows, with utter certainty, that his husband's _(husband!)_ wedding ring, a cheap thing bought at a pawnshop for whatever cash Dean had in his wallet at the time, in his left pocket, secreted away until they're out of here.

The same place Dean has his.

"May I begin by congratulating the graduating class? Guys, we did it!"

* * *

 _\- I'm very sad to see this story end. I hope you loved it as much as I did._


End file.
